So this is the RP I wrote before the last battle of Summer dale on the island of dwilight. Their are some references to an early RP I wrote but nothing major. hope y'all enjoy it.
The smell of burning pitch hung heavy in the air. Wisps of smoke hung low like fog in a swamp. What would we a pitch black field was now a war camp filled to the brim with tents, mules and men. The Bloodstars hung high in the sky, an ill omen for his men. Drage had once believed in the power of those stars, but no longer. He had renounced his faith as he planned to renounce the lives of many Morekians in a short, a sadly short, time. But the camp around him was all that mattered right now. These men around him, the last free men of the north, were all that mattered. The thought popped up again when he said this that Libero, his mortal enemy, was still free, but they weren't. They we're Moreks whipping boy, Morek's slave.
As these thoughts went on, Drage Lanyon's mood worsened. He had always been a happy person but these last months of siege and cold had drained that from him. Sleek as a cat his captain entered the tent. Calvin reminded him very much of a cat. A skinny tom that had spent his life fighting in the alleys of glorious Nifelheim. His rough, scarred face showed the marks of a hundred battles and the way he postured showed he was never easy, always cautious.
Yet tonight Calvin had a different look in his eyes. Drage had seen it many times the past couple months. It was part fear and part doubt. Fear in the thought of facing superior numbers. Doubt in Drage himself. He thought he had trained it out of his men by long hours training and many mile marches, but he would never get it out of Calvin. Calvin knew better. He knew few, if any, of those boys that He and Drage had put through a cold hell by training would survive the next 12 hours. Yet, he was still their, in his commander's tent waiting for Drage's orders.
"How are the men Calvin?"
"As you might expect, my lord, but the training has done them good. They aren't the rag tag band that fought here last time. We have true soldiers out their."
A smile creeped upon Drage's lips. "Good. The time is almost upon us friend." He stood "help me with my breastplate."
His armor was plain and simple. A steel breast plate with mail underneath, a bucket helm, and a pair of greives. He could not afford pauldrons nor gauntlets. Instead, he hoped his horses agility would save him if it came to hand to hand combat. He armed himself with a kopis instead of a longsword. He had loved the beaty of that type of single edged sword since he was a boy and when riding it would work much better than an unwieldy longsword. This was the one thing that was excessively decorated. Its outer spine was plated in gold and a sapphire was encrusted in the curl of its hilt.
As he strapped on his sword belt a small boy entered through the flap in his tent. "Malord!" he said and practically fell down onto his knee. "The Knight Commander he...huh huh huh.. he." The boy had obviously ran from the Knight Commander's tent. "out with it boy!" Calvin yelled. "No need, I get the message. Calvin ready the men I have words to say to them." And with that he donned his helmet and strode out of the tent towards the stables.
----
His black stallion had a nasty temper to him and that was something Drage was extremely proud of. It was the only horse drage had found capable of carrying him in full battle regalia. He had a certain sway in his gait that Drage liked and that movement comforted him now as he headed towards a group of men that would most likely be destroyed in a few hours.
He tried his best not to look at the faces lest this night haunt him for the rest of his life.
"Men, soon you shall fight for this great realm. I am an honest man and shall not lie to you, but this may be the last battle Summerdale ever fights. Some of you might ask 'Why fight it then' and I shall tell you. We fight this battle not for Summerdale, nor for honor and glory, even though their is much to be had. We fight this battle for our children. So that ours sons can say their father were not cowards and have someone to be proud of. We fight for a legacy of truth and honesty and responsibility. Over those three hills lie the Morekians and we shall give them a gift. That gift will be the edge of our swords with every last ounce of strength and lifeblood behind them! So let us fight today and not look back and don't look forward because the only thing that matters is now! Forward! and let the dawn chase us right down into and through the Morekian host! Forward out of the dawn!" As his men cheered Drage looked East and the rising sun died the sky red: the color of blood.
